


wings clipped (close)

by EliUndertrance (ope_ope_oppenheimer)



Series: birdcage [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Blood and Violence, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Penetrative Sex, Non-Sexual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ope_ope_oppenheimer/pseuds/EliUndertrance
Summary: What was Doflamingo to do, but to chain his wandering heart?
Relationships: Donquixote Doflamingo/Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante
Series: birdcage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136894
Comments: 23
Kudos: 63





	wings clipped (close)

The brig was cold, even more so with the moist and wet air seeping into his lungs, weighing down his bones along with the sea prism stone cuffs sapping away at his strength. There was a leak somewhere. The occasional _drip drop_ of water against water.

He had not had a quiet night’s sleep in a long time.

Trebol slithered in along with the sewage occasionally, nasally laugh and voice grating against his ears, “Nene, Corazon— hehe, though I suppose you’re not Corazon anymore— just a traitor— do you know what Doffy’s going to do to you? Do you? Do you?”

Diamante accompanied him sometimes, whenever the sadistic mood struck him. Brought him bad news every day, vultures picking on carrions. “You should see him, Rosinante. Doffy’s been positively thriving—”

“Flourishing, hehe— our ruthless, prosperous King—” Trebol garbled, like a farmer praising a prized sow, “Ever since he got off that blasted island—”

“They sent men after you, you know— your old man Sengoku— Doffy gutted five marines yesterday. Nothing but unlucky boys, just fresh recruits. You think you’d know any of them? One pissed and shat his pretty white uniform yellow begging for his life— and didn’t that tickle Doffy pink!”

“The brats are doing great by the way. Especially Baby. Such a good girl, so useful to the lot of us. You always cared so much about them, didn’t you?”

Oddly, he missed the salted teas that she used to serve him. He hadn’t seen Baby Five in ages. She was forbidden from bringing food to him, too _useful_ , too _helpful_ to anyone that would ask. As if Rosinante would fall as low as to use a child for his benefit. For his personal gain.

Senor was the one tasked to bring his meals. He must have drawn the short end of the stick— or out of the kindness of his heart, volunteered. Was it pity? Rosinante couldn’t see his past colleague’s expression behind those shades, that yellow pacifier, and that pink bonnet. Traitors certainly didn’t deserve kindness, and Senor was always a rational man. He never did anything without just reason.

“What do you think he’ll do with you?” Senor asked, lighting the cigarette Rosi had bummed off of him through the cell bars. A penny for the hanged man.

He looked down at the meal he’s been counting. The eighteenth. The bread was fresh, the water not even stale. There was even a wedge of cheese.

_What will you do with me, Doffy?_

_What are you planning?_

* * *

The sea stretched out before him, stopping just at the horizon where it stretched from edge to edge of his vision, unending. It was a curve, obscured by his naked eye. The sea was a woman.

Sometimes Doflamingo wished he was a man of a different age. Not the Golden Age of the Pirates, marked by the death of a man great enough to be called King of the Pirates. Not the New Age, or Modern Age, or whatever his contemporaries have taken to calling it. Perhaps this age will be nameless, one day fading into the obscurities of history.

Sometimes he wished the world was a little bigger, the seas a little wider. The problem with charted seas was that it had already been discovered once. And places discovered were places that can be found again. He was walking on a trodden path. Perhaps not worn, but it was no virgin soil.

And there was a thrill to fucking a virgin, one that the sea with all her matronly love had never given him.

“Behehe, what next, Doffy?” Trebol oozed next to him.

“Are you going to execute him?” Diamante grinned, his suggestions only an extension of Trebol’s words. “Let’s turn the Navy rat to the Family, y’know, Corazon’s never been popular. Why don’t we make an example out of him? Won’t the pretty bird look good hanged, Doffy?”

Wouldn’t he be? Bound to the wall, a caricature of a crucifixion while hellfire burned beneath them. _I’ll kill you_...

“You think I should make an example out of him, to the Family?” Doflamingo repeated, looking back, the mirthless grin on his face stretching wider, lips revealing more teeth. And though he spoke to Diamante, to his executives, he could see Trebol’s slime quiver with fear. “You think I should hang the Judas like the traitor he was? To disgrace and humiliate my own brother, my flesh and blood, just as an example? A message for my _Family_?”

Rosi, crying. Father, pleading for their lives. Rosi, crying. He wouldn’t stop crying.

Diamante chuckled nervously, just to fill the silence, “come on, Doffy— we didn’t mean—“

“Do you think anyone else is disloyal, Trebol?” He hummed, voice turning just a touch melodic, addressing him this time. “Do you think a message _needed_ to be sent? A message so urgent, that it must be written in my own blood?”

Trebol’s sweat was staining the deck of his ship.

“My brother, my _Corazon_ ,” he snarled, “may be a Navy rat, a conniving lying bastard whose blood was dirtied by his senseless mercy for vermin, just like my own Father’s was. He may be a hopeless, sentimental, snivelling _fool_ who thought he could outsmart _me_ …”

“But he is still my little brother.” Doflamingo said.

_I can’t kill him._

* * *

“I love you, big brother.” Rosi once said to him, when he was four and he was six. Because that was a thing to say between family. That was their Father’s too-soft eyes, sinking into his skull. That was a sweet nothing their mother whispered to them after a bedtime story. Love was a duty.

“I love you, Doffy.” Rosi once said to him, when he was ten and he was eight. Because they were pressed together in the cold for warmth, starving on the same meals. And unlike their father, Doflamingo _provided._ Their mother was gone, their father useless. All they had was each other. Love was a necessity.

“I love you.” His Corazon said. 

But each time, Doffy had no answer to the silent question that followed.

_Do you love me?_

* * *

“Do you like it, Rosi?” He asked, smiling, providing. The thing was tiny, fitting into his child’s palms. Wings broken, neck crooked, emerald and ruby feathers mixed with grass stains and blood.

Rosi had cried, and ran to mother.

His mother came and asked her usual questions. Who? _A bird._ When did this happen? _This morning._ How? _I caught it with my bug-catching net._ Why?

Why, Doffy? 

_I didn’t want it to fly away._

She could not look at him during dinner that night. He sat at the far end of the long dining table while Rosi sat beside her, occasionally sneaking glances to him in between being fed spoonfuls of soup.

The next day, with Rosi hiding behind her skirts, she brought him a cage. Another bird, a parrot. She had taught it a few words. _Doffy._ It quacked, in its burlesque tongue. _Doffy. Rosi._ And it couldn’t tell them apart.

“Do you like it, Doffy?”

Together, they clipped its wings.

“See, Doffy, I’m not hurting it.” She said as the blade bloodlessly swiped across its edge. Rosi picked up the sheared bits of the colourful feathers. It could still fly, but never far.

The dead bird in his drawer had already begun to rot, the vibrant feathers fading in colour.

This one would last longer.

* * *

“Do you like it, Rosi?” He asked, smiling, providing.

The strings ran parallel to each other, each identical in shape, strength, width. It was the birdcage, but it had lost its murderous glint. Straining, still weighed by his seastone cuffs, he reached up to touch one. Stronger than steel, yet rounded. Soft.

Gilded.

“You see, Rosi, I can’t kill you.” He said, large hands over his shoulders, digging in like claws.

A monster.

“Kinslaying and fratricide isn’t in vogue among the crew.” The warm breath in his right ear stank of wine. Rosinante looked to his left. By the bed there were three bottles, two empty, one half-gone. “And how could I do such a _cruel_ thing to my cute little brother? You’re family, aren’t you, little bird?”

He stared into the cage. A bed that was only a soft mattress with plenty of pillows and duvets, all white sheets (just in case he bled). A few books stacked neatly on the ground— the favourites that they used to read together as children, and then shared interests in adulthood. A mockery of memory, Mariejois picture books with its bright acrylics and watercolours in contrast with dull black-bound classics. A toilet, shower, sink on the other side, divided by a panel, still in plain view. 

“But I can’t let you get away, either.”

This is temporary.

“I’ll protect you, Rosi.” He said. “You’re my brother.”

Doffy will be bored of him eventually.

“You’re _mine._ ”

He always threw away his broken toys without a second thought.

* * *

The cuff was replaced by a tight collar on the throat. Some alloy from Wano country with just enough sea prism stone to keep his devil fruit powers dormant, but not enough for the paralysis and fatigue. He looked ridiculous in the mirror, far on the other side of the room through bars. Black feathers, a painted smile, all divided vertically by the strings. All Rosinante ever saw were fragments of himself now. 

Doflamingo smiles back at him through their shared reflection.

“I’m off to work, Corazon. Won’t you kiss your brother goodbye?” He asked.

His question was met with silence. And Rosinante watched his brother press a kiss to his own fingers, before touching Rosi’s black feathers in the looking glass.

It was the wrong perspective. 

* * *

If he ignored the screaming and shouting of men, long nines sounded identical to thunder.

Rosinante had not had a quiet night’s sleep in a very long time. 

* * *

“Rosi, come on, come on, we’re gonna miss it!” He half-pulled, half-dragged his brother forward. Their hair was the colour of gold-paved streets, the leather of their shoes shining against metal. The smiling man on the platform was shouting numbers, pointing this way and that. The wooden gavel in his hand pounded the podium. The thing on the stage was not smiling, its chains jingled like holiday bells. _Sold, for 200 to number 14!_

They were numbers that they could count, children similar to them in age surrounded them with their fine silken robes and the numbered plaques they held.

“Doffy, Father said we shouldn’t be here…”

“Well it would have been rude to say no to Saint Blackwell.” Doffy pinched his brother on the baby pudge of his forearm. “Stop whining, you’re ruining the fun.”

The boy bowed his head, allowing himself to be dragged along. And Doffy’s mouth twisted, knowing his brother to be mad. He looked around for something to distract him with. And the pupils of his eyes widened as he saw that brilliant colour.

_“Look, Rosi!”_

* * *

“Look, Rosi.” The morning papers were tossed through the bars, the front page falling open on his face. In the process of removing it, he glimpsed the title. Six marine ships, sunken to the depths of the Grand Line. “How many more men do you think are going to waste on you, hm? What had you done to make Sengoku act like this? What value are you to him?”

Rosinante looked at the wooden ceiling from where he lay on the ground. His nails dug grooves into the wooden floors. 

”Oh I’m sure you have plenty of information on me.” His brother laughed. “But you know this is overkill. You’re a sunk cost that he can’t possibly get back. Word is they’re gonna make me a Warlord, what could you possibly offer him, once that happens?”

Sengoku was being foolish.

“Was he a father to you?” He asked. “A mentor? A teacher? Or…”

He knows that voice, used to have dreams of it. He hated it. It had a treble edge to Doffy’s usual baritone, that dissonant chirp of too-high notes clashing and being swallowed by longer wavelengths.

“Did you fuck him?”

He sat up, staring into his twisted reflection behind bars. Doffy’s smile had that dissonant edge, and he knows he will hear the echoes tonight.

The flat of the leather shoe kicked, and the cage did not even rattle. Only rang like the bells of that city of his faded memory.

“Fucking _speak_.”

A part of him wants to. Scream into the void that is his brother, cry for all the lives he could not save, beg for those he might still be able to. Tell his brother that Sengoku was not that kind of man, that the Fleet Admiral was a man of justice. Nothing like the lost men who his brother associated himself with— nothing like the men that his brother had ever known. He wished to plead for the virtue of humanity, that kindness their Father saw in his sweet-rottened eyes.

Rosinante closed his eyes, falling back down.

* * *

_“That one’s covered in blood!”_

* * *

“Look, Rosi.” Doflamingo smiled. And if he smiled enough, perhaps the reflection would smile back. But its eyes only widened in shock and recognition. Not that Rosinante actually _knew_ the man, he only recognized him for the uniform. “We have a visitor.”

The white uniform is splotched with red, bringing with it the scent of iron and sea salt. The brown mousy hair he held and pulled taught in that overlarge hand was matted in places. And the man recognized him too. 

“Y-You…” The human’s voice was hoarse.

“Let him go, Doffy.” His voice was hoarse from weeks of disuse, but Rosinante spoke on the man’s behalf. Not on his own, but for worthless worms who never deserved any of his kindness. “Please.”

“You know the rules, Rosi.” Doflamingo’s grin was wide, his tongue clicked. “You wore the uniform yourself, didn’t ya? Knew the consequences.”

He yanked on the hair like he would a stringed toy, it yelps in response.

“Tell him what you told me.”

The marine swallowed.

“F-Fleet admiral Sengoku…” Doflamingo’s leather shoes dug into one of the marine’s wounds, just enough pressure to stop his trembling and for him to get on with it, and from the corner of his eye, saw his brother wince. “Our orders were to— Capture Corazon, the officer of the Donquixote pirates— Donquixote Rosinante—”

“Go on.”

“D-Dead or alive.”

“And why is that?”

“H-He had...He stole valuable information from— From Sabaody—”

He grinned, tossing the browned flyer to his Corazon. Watched him look upon that picture with the ninety-two million berries bounty. The wing-tipped leather shoe kicked the marine once more, and Doffy could not help his grin stretching too wide at the sound of pain. 

“You see, Rosi? I’ve been protecting you, my Corazon, all this time. Who knew how many assassins these bars stopped, hm?” He tapped gently at the strings of his gilded cage, the metallic sound ringing in the air.

“Just let him go. He was just following orders.”

“And was that what you were doing? Following orders?”

Rosi said nothing.

* * *

They were a dyad of disparity, sun to moon, sky to sea, sock to buskin. The bloody and pummelled marine still stained the hardwood floors of his bedroom, sunk so deep and left for hours. He had forgotten what Rosi’s tears looked like. Rosi had not cried before him in years, when that was all it he ever seemed to do as children.

He reached through the veil, touching and caressing that velvet corner of his eye, touching the edge of that inverted reflection to his grin. 

Anything to wipe the stillness of death away. Some unlucky marine or merchant, forced to take out their family photos, talked about their dog-faced wife, named each individual snot-nosed brat in some rural hamlet.

“Doffy, don’t, please, don’t do this—” 

And each time, he denied him as he was denied.

* * *

“Kill me instead.” He pleaded with the same dogged earnestness as he had the first day. “Please, Doffy, don’t kill him. Kill me instead.”

Bile rises in Doflamingo’s throat, the strings snapping one by one to fasten itself around his brother’s throat. His hand reached forward, not knowing what else to do but to claw and touch and dug deep until he saw sanguine springs.

Prometheus prostrated himself, let the gods bind him to rock, eagles picking at his liver.

“For what?” Doflamingo asked, “why would you give your life for that of a worthless scum, Rosi?”

Blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, and he dared insult him like this. He pressed deeper, and lips bloodied, Rosi’s head falling against his shoulder. A smaller, lesser self. Gripping hair by the roots, Doffy lifted his Corazon's head. Bloody lips, still spouting more red. Mouth open, he leaned forward, tasted what was his.

“This, Rosi.” He raised his bloody hand, showing it to him. _Look_. “This is mine.”

Rosinante looked at him with a face full of smeared sanguine.

* * *

He was blinking in and out of consciousness, his field of vision full of red. Red blood and red velvet, twisted golden rococo swirls further distorted by his sight. He twitched, gasped, more on instinct rather than actual pain. Looking down, he can see his body. Fleshy intestines, maroon liver, baroque organs attached and reattached with strings, fixed into place.

“I’m sorry, Rosi, hm? I was a little too rough…” The voice rumbled deep behind him, chest broad with their shared heat, skin against naked skin. There was something— hot and rigid pressed up against his lower thigh. He turned his cheek, pressing an ear against a steady heartbeat.

“Forgive me, won’t you, little brother?” He felt the breath against the corner of his lip, before he closed his eyes again.

* * *

“Eat.” Doflamingo’s bad eye twitched in irritation as he stared at his brother, and Rosi only looked at the blue sky lined with white lines, joining together at the top. On top of the mast, the jolly roger flapped in the wind like some choked raven.

He’s gotten paler, thinner too. That was usually how it went after refusing food for a week. Yet every day, he painted that red grin on his face, washed and dressed his thinning body.

Doflamingo’s teeth bit through the lobster’s claw, cracking the exoskeleton as easy as he cracked bones. He spat out the red shell, peeling away the inedible shards, before dunking the flesh into warm butter. 

Rosi still wasn’t moving.

Impatiently, Doffy pushed the fine china plate forward, an arrangement of fruit and vegetables drizzled with vinaigrette and olive oil. 

“C’mon, bunny, don’t make me wait.”

He never understood Rosi’s fondness for the greens, far more difficult to keep on a ship. The small vegetable and herb garden that his little brother and Law had used to keep had rotted and withered on the _Numancia_. No one else had been foolish enough to take on the same burden.

His brother’s ghost stared at him impassively, silent.

The table goes flying, the plate crashing on the deck like so many waves had. Amidst the flurry of silverware and tablecloth, Doffy grips his brother’s too pale wrist, letting go briefly before pulling him up by his baggy shirt. He grabbed a handful of leaves and shards of porcelain, pushing it against his painted mouth.

“Are you finished?” He growled, had to repeat himself, again and again. His patience, always tenuously strained, seemed to be always so resilient for his little brother. He finds it very difficult to be so merciful now. “Are you finished, Rosi?”

He was gripping the shards so tightly that it dug into his calloused palms. Blood drips down onto his lips, into the cracks of the teeth. Rosi twisted his face.

“Do I disgust you?” He said, “is that it? You cannot even _eat_ in my presence? You’d rather fucking die?”

“Who do you think you belong to?” He watched his brother wince. “I take _care_ of you, Rosi, don’t I? I make sure you’re fed, warm, provided for. Why are you rejecting it, hm? Why are you rejecting my kindness, my mercy?”

“From now on, for each day you do not eat, I’ll pillage a town.” He threatened. “That’s how much you’re worth to me, Rosi. That’s how much I love my dear little brother. So what’s it gonna be, bunny? It’s a good deal, isn’t it?”

The look his Corazon gave him made him want to pluck out his eyes. The fury within them too soft, too useless to do much, yet it remained all the same.

_“...Dried plums.”_

The voice is so soft, barely whispered, if it weren’t for his lips moving, Doflamingo would have almost thought he imagined it.

“What was that?”

“I want dried plums.”

Doflamingo’s grin stretched wide.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

* * *

Rosi eats right out of his hand. Soft dried fruits, greens, root vegetables. A herbivore, he turned up his nose at any meat, any scent of blood. Any fish. Any _live_ thing.

There’s less distance between them now, the cage door opened, his pet lying next to him in his bed. His hand played with Rosi’s golden hair idly.

“I’m a warlord now, Rosi.” He whispered into his ear, the newspaper open in Rosi’s lap. He could not see his expression, but he felt that shudder when he pressed his hard length against his thigh.

“You can’t run from me,” Doffy said, hands drifting, wandering. Past white linen bandages, across stitched wounds. He pressed a chaste kiss against a cold cheek. “You won’t.”

“And why would you?” Calloused hands were deceptively gentle against kin’s skin, “I take care of you, don’t I? Feed you, cloth you…”

Papers rustle. His Corazon let out a gasp as Doflamingo’s large hand came down to grope at his loins, jolting. There are tears in his eyes, falling down his cheek, running across paint. Doffy sticks his tongue out this time, laps at the salt and blue. The colours smear across pink skin and tongue. “Don’t cry, Rosi. What is there to cry about?”

“Doffy, d-don’t…” His brother hiccuped, shaking his head. “Don’t do this, I don’t...I don’t want this.”

The Warlord pulls his hand back, before it comes down onto a thinner wrist.

“Of course you do.” Doflamingo’s teeth were almost as sharp as the words against Rosinante’s ear, taking his brother’s hand for him and pushing it, guiding it. “I know what you want, what you _need_. Big brother knows best, doesn’t he?”

He could feel the tension in his lap, the resistance. Strings pulled too tight on a marionette. His other hand came upward, reached under a heart-patterned shirt. Brother’s hands caressed gently, like a lover would. “How long has it been, hm? Must be all backed up in there. That’s not healthy you know, Rosi.”

A calloused thumb grazes the areola, and Doffy didn’t even need to look to know how pink, how swollen the small thing must be. The heavy breaths he held in his arms were enough for him to know what worked, what didn’t.

“You’re all pent up. Has anyone else ever touched you like this? No, they haven’t, haven’t they?” He continued, licking another stripe down the cheek, tasting red this time. “Sengoku could never take care of you like this. He’s not _Family_. Doesn’t understand what you need, what you want.”

At the mention of the fleet admiral’s name, that hypocrite that Rosi admired so, he jolted. Shivered. Doflamingo could feel that twitch underneath soft cotton. His grin widened, mirthless. “Don’t— don’t talk about him! Keep him out of this!”

“Aw, Rosi, are you still so loyal to him after all he’s done to you? To _us_?” The Warlord cooed. Without warning, his hand gripped at his brother’s half-hard dick, and he relished in the trembling that it brought. The instinctual _fear_ of having one’s weakness in the other’s hand. “He really did have you well-trained, hm? But that’s alright, we’ll get those bad habits out of you soon enough.”

The sound of the zipper being pulled down prompted Rosi to wince, their hands moving together blindly beneath cheap pulp paper. There was still resistance, hand next to hand trying to push the other away. Doflamingo clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Be good, Rosi, or else I’ll _make_ you good.”

The hand fighting against him stopped, resting uselessly against Doflamingo’s knuckles. He knew what he was capable of. And Rosi could only plead, voice half-broken with a sob. “Don’t, _don’t_ , Doffy.”

“Quiet, Rosi. You want this as much as I do.” His hand finally gripped at the heat, and at the touch of that soft flesh, Doffy can’t help but grunt, buck up and push against his brother’s lower back a little, to give himself some relief. _Not yet._ He never considered himself to be a patient person, but for Rosi, he would have to be.

His little brother has always been smaller, more fragile, and nothing escaped his eyes with that open cage. Rosi cried easily too. Cried when he traced the slight ridge of the crown, his own rough skin surely scuffing the sensitive flesh. He clicked his tongue again at the _fuss_ Rosi was making. “I’m being as gentle as I can, Rosi.”

And Rosi’s body, at least, knows to obey him. Even if that painted mouth denied him, whimpered and begged for him to stop, the dick in his hand goes hard, to the point that it’s leaking precum.

“See, Rosi? You _really_ needed this. You’re wet already, _leaking_. Look.” He pulled his hand away, briefly, just for the clear liquid to catch the light of the chandelier. Just Rosi to see. He shoved himself back in, smearing it all over paper and cloth and skin. “It’s alright though, it feels good, doesn’t it, Rosi?”

Rosi bit his lip, and Doflamingo could feel his own brow tighten in irritation. He grips harder, moves faster. _Tight_ and barely wet in a way he’s sure _can’t_ feel that good. But Rosi yelps all the same, cries out, _moans._

“You should see yourself right now,” Doffy groaned, burying his face into his brother’s shoulder, moves his lighter body with his stronger strength in a brief mimicry of an actual fuck. “Such a fucking whore, getting off like this. But it’s alright, I forgive you. You needed this, hm? It’s alright. I-It’s fuckin— alright…”

Rosi’s hands come up, winds around his neck, clings to him. He’s bucking, fucking himself into the hand. “D-Doffy, stop, I-I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured. “Cum. Be a good boy—”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Rosi came with a broken cry and a burst of slick on his hand. If he weren’t so turned on right now, he would have been laughing his head off at how pathetic his little brother looked. Makeup all smeared with tears and Doffy’s spit, body still broken and barely stitched together, bones limp. Nothing like the Corazon that was an executive of their Family. Nothing like a proper marine. Nothing even remotely _respectable_. Not when his chest was still heaving and his blue eyes were still blown wide in bliss. Not when he raised both of his hands to cover his face and sob and hiccup.

Briefly, Doflamingo considered making his little brother clean up the mess he’s made, but ultimately decided against it. He takes the newspaper instead, wiping the slick off before rolling the paper into a ball and tossing it into the bin at the corner of the room.

“Get off.” He said, and Rosi obliged, obedient, rolled off of him and got onto his hands and knees. Still crying.

He can feel his head ache in slight irritation. All he wanted to do now was to find some tramp and unload, as Rosi didn’t seem to be in a state to take anything else right now. He had a _plan_ , little stringed puppets on a stage, heart and soul bound so tightly to them. Rosi needed his help to understand the simplest of things, his mind warped from all the years spent with the Navy, the World that abandoned them.

He sighs, hefting his brother up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him against his crimson sheets. Rosi’s still crying, shaking his head, crawling away from him until his back is pressed back against the headboard. Begging in a series of words, “d-don’t, Doffy— please—”

“Don’t what? Rape you?” Doflamingo laughed, using the word Rosi was too afraid, too cowardly to use. He stalked forward slowly, just so he could catch that despair, terror on his sweet little brother’s face. It’s nostalgic, in a way that dirty mobs and forest fires are. Makes him feel ten, twenty years younger; better than the feeling of fucking a teen whore. His grin split so wide, his face hurted. “Don’t worry, Rosi, I would never hurt you like that.”

He crawled onto the bed, _his_ bed, while Rosi was still trembling in one corner— “Stop— stop fucking _shaking_! God, Rosi, you’ve always been such a scaredy-cat—” and strong-armed, he wrestled the boy into position next to him. His hard dick pressed right up against his brother’s ass. And he pushed it against the warmth in between those thighs, just a little, just to hear Rosi’s voice break a little.

“See, I’m not doing anything.” He sighed through his nose, pressed a light kiss to the nape of his brother’s neck. Feels every twitch and jolt of his body, every shuddering breath and sob, and he groaned, pushing forward a little. “If you don’t stop moving like that, Rosi, I’m not gonna be able to control myself.”

As expected, Rosinante froze, his good obedient Corazon. It was enough time for Doflamingo to undo his belt, before the clinking of metal elicited a sharp whine from Rosi. _Bitching_ for it, when just literal seconds ago, he had to tell him to shut up. 

He had to turn Rosi’s face to him at that, and the sight of blatant fear in those eyes, running with make-up and mascara, made his fingers itch to bury itself in something. Made him want to add a few more shades of colour to that red and blue. It was getting harder and harder to control himself.

“I _told_ you already, I’m not gonna rape you. I’m just getting comfortable.” He snarled, teeth baring, as both a reassurance and a threat. “Now stay still, I’m _trying_ to be good to you, Rosi. And isn’t this what you always wanted?”

He pressed a hungry maw to the edge of a jaw, biting, leaving a mark.

“Me to be good to you?”

Silent, Rosi allowed himself to be turned back around, said nothing as he felt his brother’s cock press up against the bare skin of his lower back, that heart-patterned shirt pushed out of the way. He groaned as he felt warm smooth bare skin against him. It’d be easy, right now, to just shove his brother’s pants down and shove it in dry. Rosi would cry, of course, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t cried before. It would be tight, bloody, and warm. Loud too, make every single soul on board the ship know who owned his Corazon.

But it wouldn’t be _perfect_ , and that was the only thing stopping Doffy from acting on every instinct. It’s what made one of his hands go down and stroke himself off until he spilled all over Rosi’s back, making sure he felt his seed dripping on his smooth skin.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked, almost as an afterthought, not that he expected a response. He tucked himself back into his pants, pressed himself closer to his little brother.

“Good night, Rosi.”

Rosi’s voice, cried hoarse, whispered in return.

“Good night, Doffy.”


End file.
